Dans le Sommeil il m'a Chanté
by Trivinia
Summary: As soon as she got the chance, Ann was off to Paris. Her first stop: the Opera Garnier, the setting for her favorit novel. But as she fell headfirst through one of the many trapdoors, she would come to face something she'd only dreamt of.
1. Prelude

Dans le sommeil il m'a chanté

1. Prélude

Rubbing her eyes, Ann put down the battered book on her nightstand and reached to turn off the light. The cover caught her eye, it's ragged and pathetic paperback sheet bent over. She did not remember doing that. And she certainly did not remember writing on the inside.

Could it be...?

Her heart jumped as she recognized the handwriting, the poor scrawling in the red ink. She saw her name, in his unique way of writing.

"Mlle_ Bout,_

_As much as I dislike this novel, I know it is one of your favorites._

_Its state is alarming. Look into your closet._

_ Yours,_

_ O.G."_

Ann lept up, the book falling to the floor. A rush of memories attacked her, the sound of a violin, the scent of musk. How she had pushed that time away from her thoughts. _Forget it. It was a fevered dream._

But no. This proves it. That time was real. Her trip to the Opera Garnier, and the amazing ending to it. It had been so short. Too short.

She pulled on the closet door, not sure what to expect. She reached within, feeling for the chord of the light. _There_. She pulled hard, her heart hammering away within her chest. Light flooded the small enclosure.


	2. Enfant Errant

2. Enfant Errant

This was a dream come true.

Ann had read _Le Fantôme de l'Opéra_ when she was a young girl and had fallen in love with the story. The Opera house was even more beautiful and dramatic that she had imagined it.

She took a guided tour, something she had promised herself she wouldn't do. But the Opera house was so huge, she feared she'd be lost and never found again. After roaming and many a lengthy introductions to different parts of the Opera house, they finally reached the place she'd wanted most to see.

Box Five.

The tour guide didn't spend enough time in the small Box for Ann's liking. Before she knew it, she was being whisked away. "Screw that." She broke away from the group and retraced her steps, opening the door herself. The view from the Box was wonderful. She could see why Erik enjoyed this spot so much.

Erik. _Le Fantôme_. If myth wer truth he'd stood quite possibly in this very spot. Her heart skipped a beat. "I wonder..." The secret compartment. Ann ran her fingers over the intricate carvings.

_Click._

The wall swung open toward her. Ann's breath caught in her throat. If the compartment were real, then what else of Leroux's legend? She began feeling around, but luck no longer shone on her. She couldn't spring the trapdoor. Slamming her hands down in frustration, she reprimanded herself. She'd let herself get excited over nothing. She moved to leave.

_Click._

"Wha-? Augh!!" Ann fell forward as the floor of the compartment fell through. Down into darkness she plunged. Air rushed past her. A thought flitted past her. _Is this how I am to go?_

She landed with a sickening crunch, her shoulder hitting something hard, cold, and wet. She heard a voice cry out, but it didn't sound like her own. Then everything was white. Pain wiped through her and she was suddenly sick. Then she passed out.

--

She awoke some time later, rested in a soft cushion of a feather mattress. A heavy blanket covered her. Ann opened her eyes slowly. Her shoulder was bandaged, her arm wrapped to her torso. A sheer canopy hung over her, opened at her feet.

"Your shoulder is dislocated," a dark voice said from the shadows beyond the canopy. Ann started, and once more pain coursed through her body. Real pain. Pain unlike any she had felt before. "It would be a good idea not to move," the voice continued, a hing of amusement in it. The accent was French.

"Come where I can see you," Ann demanded, unable to keep the hysteria from her voice. Her heart was racing. As the blanket fell from her shoulders, she noticed her shirt was not where it was supposed to be. "And where the hell are my clothes?"

"You should be more concerned with where you are, _mlle_." The owner of the voice stepped forward, and the slight candlelight only illuminated up to his chest.

"I-... I'm..." Ann was afraid. She was injured. She was at the mercy of a man she couldn't see and didn't know. What frightened her most, though, was that she knew exactly where she was as the man spoke. The only place under the Opera that would even remotely be like this would be the House On the Lake. The House of Erik. "I'm... You're... You're real. You're Erik." Ann immediately sat up, her heart exploding in her chest in a mix of sheer terror and excitement. Bad move. She was unconcious before she hit the pillow, her body escaping the pain that her injured shoulder brought.

--

She awoke once more. The feeling of a large amount of time passing overwhelmed her. She should've brought her watch. Somehow, though, she could tell it was nighttime now.

The sweet, sad sound of a violin had roused her. There was more light now. Electric lights.

Erik stood on the edge of the Lake, as if he were playing for the siren. Ann didn't recognise the tune, but it went from mournful to dreadfully excited in the space of a breath. She found her emotions were much similar Perhaps Erik felt the same way. Who knows how long it had been since he had had a visitor. The legend of _Le Fantôme de l'Opéra_ took place in the late 1800s. Almost a century and a half. Maybe more. Yet it didn't strike her as strange that Erik was still alive, still haunting the Opera Garneir.

Ann sat up slowly. Erik stopped playing, turning slightly.

"People are looking for me by now," she stated.

"I know. People often go missing in the Garneir. They are almost always found. You will be moved above ground once I feel you are stable."

"And when will that be?"

Erik didn't answer her. He took his violin to his chin and began playing again. Ann sighed. Leroux had got his character and charm, that's for sure. She returned her head to the pillow, staring up ath the sheer canopy above her. Her stomach growled. Memory of breakfast was distant. She'd been down here for hours... She regretted skipping lunch now.

"Why are you taking care of me?" Ann called out to the Phantom. He paused in his playing once more, turning toward her. She was the black mask that she had read about so often that her original copy of _Le Fantôme de l'Opéra_ had long ago fallen to pieces.

"Because I can." He walked toward her, his bow hanging limply from a deadly pale hand. Ann's heart rate increased. Erik seemed unconcerned with her, resting his violin on a stone wall outside the bed's canopy. He then walked over, shoes tapping on the stone floor. Ann pulled the blanket close to her chest with her good arm. Erik sighed, and Ann assumed he looked down on her. "If I wanted to hurt you, _Mlle_. Bout, I would have done it long ago." She didn't relax, but she didn't flinch away as he sat on the edge of the bed. Then a light went off in her head.

"Wait... How do you know my name?"

"The wallet in your back pocket."

"You went through my wallet? And you took my shirt?!"

"You fell headfirst. It fell out. And as for your shirt, it is on the nightstand next to you."

"Why is it off in the first place?"

"So that I could properly brace your shoulder." He said it so matter-of-factly, that Ann actually felt a little stupid. So far, Erik had yet to turn his face to her since he had been standing above her.

"Oh... sorry."

"It is quite alright, _mlle_." He lifted his face to the ceiling. "I assume, since you know my name, you have read that filth that dares to call itself a novel."

"_Le Fantôme de l'Opéra_," Ann whispered. Erik nodded. "I read it as a child. It's the only clue I have to your character, so you'll have to forgive my apprehension." She paused, then grinned a little. "Do you really have a torture chamber?"

"I could show you," he replied, not missing a beat. The same hint of amusement from earlier was present again.

"N-no, I'm good. That's fine. I'll just stay here." Ann heard a chuckle escape from Erik's lips. Oh great. I'm amusing. Let's let him enjoy my company and keep me here...

"How are you feeling?"

"Scared, confused, nervous and hungry."

"I meant your shoulder."

"It hurts. I thought that would be obvious."

Erik's head twisted to face her. Even with the mask, Ann could feel he was becoming irritated with her. She quieted her mouth, but her stomach spoke up for her. Erik stood.

"Anything in particular you are hungry for?"

"Food."

"I shall return in a short time. If you do try to escape, try not to get your vomit everywhere like you did earlier."

"Sorry about that."

"It's not a problem, _mlle_." Erik walked away. Ann sat up gingerly, watching him carefully until she couldn't see him anymore. She waited a few moments longer, waiting to see if he would return for something, the threw back her blanket. Her jeans were stained. She made a face, then stood up. Her legs were just fine, but she was lightheaded. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she put her good arm through the sleeve and pulled it over her head with much difficulty. By the time she was dressed, she could feel too much time had passed for her to get away safely. Already she could hear Erik's echoing footsteps. He was making no effort to be sneaky, for sure. Ann panicked and jumped under the blanket. Her shoes were missing anyway and it would take too long to find them.

She had herself comfortable again when Erik reappeared, a paper sack in his hand. He sat on the edge of the bed, peering at her from behind his mask. Ann shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of the smoldering coals.

"I couldn't helped you with your shirt. I'm sure it must've been quite an ordeal."

"I'll survive."

"I can only hope so. I would hate to see you put in an uncomfortable position."

"Was that a joke?"

"_Oui_." She could hear a soft, raspy chuckle. Ann directed her attention to the paper bag in his lap. The aroma of the food within had reached her. "Hungry?" he asked, lifting it up slightly.

"Starving," she replied. Erik chuckled, reaching into the bag and pulling out a wrapped sandwhich. Ann eyed it, then laughed. "McDonald's?"

"You _Américains_ do enjoy it, no?" He handed her the cheeseburger and she took it happily, taking it out of the wrapper and eating quickly. Erik's prescence made her uneasy, but not un-hungry.

"Aren't you going to--" She caught herself. "Oh. Sorry." She looked away, embarassed once more.

"Quite alright, _mlle_." Erik took the empty wrapper and handed her a bottle of water. An uncomfortable silence soon engulfed them both.

"So..." Ann said, looking over at him. "How have you managed to survive all these years?" Erik was silent, as if he were deciding whether or not to answer her. He then stood, turning his back to her. He'd made up his mind.

"Rest for now. Your arm will feel better soon. Erik will return you to the living soon enough." He began to walk away. As he stooped to pick up his violin, Ann spoke up.

"I've already see that you play as Leroux said... But do you sing as well?" Erik turn around so sharply that Ann flinched.

"Do not mistake me, _Mlle_. Bout. Though you are a guest, you are not welcomed. As soon as you are well enough, you will be aboveground and out of my hair, and Erik will be able to go about his life as he had been." He paused again, as if remembering something, then turned abruptly once again, storming away from Ann and her increasingly temporary bed. The girl shuddered.

_So cold... Is this what a century of life under the Garnier house does to a person?_ Ann rested against the pillows at the head of the bed, her mind racing._ Poor Erik_.

In the novel, Erik had told Daroga to put his obituary in the paper. Had he done that merely to let Christine and the Viscount move on with their lives? He had cared for her so much that he was supposed to have died of heartbreak. This man that watched over her so carefully now couldn't possibly be the same _Fantôme de l'Opéra_.

I should go to him, she thought, then shook her head. No, he's crazy, Phantom or not. There's no way he's safe to be around.

But...

But he's still a person.

Ann twisted around and stood. Her bare feet hit the cold stone floor with a smack and she walked away from the bed, leaving the canopy.

Erik sat at the edge of the lake, his back turned to her. Still she knew he was aware of her prescence behind him. She resisted breaking into a verse of "All I Ask Of You," and came to sit beside him. She said nothing hoping her mere prescence would be comfort enough. She would sit there as long as it took for him to crack. Either he would break down and speak to her, or try to Punjab her. She could handle either one.

"Your hair is short."

The statement, so blunt, took her off guard so much that it startled a laugh out of her. It was true, though. She kept her hair cut short, almost boyish. It framed her tanned face in dark, coal black locks that shone in the poor lighting. She grinned over at Erik. His own dark tresses fell over the top of his mask as if it had been hastily removed and returned.

"Is it so strange to you, _Monsieur_?" she laughed. Erik turned his masked face away from her.

"How did you find the trapdoor so easily."

"Dumb luck. More dumb that luck, actually." She heard a strange sound come from Erik's throat. She wasn't sure what to make of it, so she looked out over the lake.

"I'm afraid I don't sing very well," Ann admitted. Erik chuckled.

"We shall see to that, _mon cher_. We shall see."


End file.
